


Head of the Household

by NevermoreDarling



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Disciplinary Spanking, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, In which oscar is the oldest and has to practically raise his younger siblings, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Sexual Spanking, Protective Older Brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6913867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevermoreDarling/pseuds/NevermoreDarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Oscar Delancey was twelve years old, his parents dropped him off at the nearest relative's house, along with a note explaining why they'd left and his two younger siblings--- his only instructions being to raise them the way his father and mother would have. With his widowed, alcoholic uncle being one step away from snapping, he's grown up as the only parental influence to both of his siblings, but as his only sister begins to come of age, and his brother comes close to being a man, they all have to either adapt or die trying.</p><p>[Contains non-sexual spanking of a minor]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I have put in the description, this story contains non-consensual and non-sexual spanking of a minor. If this offends you or makes you uncomfortable in any way, please do not read.

If Charlotte's eye wasn't halfway swollen, she'd be very nervous from the look of irritation on her brother's face. He was in the middle of leading both her and Morris back to their apartment, a stony look on his face as he gripped the back of her dress, a new bruise blossoming on his cheek. To be honest, Charlotte hadn't realized that Oscar wasn't another newsboy when she swung at him, but it was not the best time to mention it— neither that nor the fact that she had been the one to throw the first punch at the smug newsie's face. Instead, she tried to ignore the cold pit of fear gnawing at her stomach, concentrating instead on Morris' footsteps behind them both. 

Charlotte whimpered slightly as the hairs on the back of her neck were pulled along with the fabric of her dress when Oscar readjusted his grip, shivering slightly. Oscar noticed this and let go, instead placing a firm hand on her shoulder as he led his younger siblings through the streets. The touch was more comforting than the hand pushing at her back, although the grip on her shoulder reminded her not to even think of running off— although, with all the trouble she was in, the idea hadn't even crossed her mind. 

Tears filled her eyes as she glanced up at the eldest Delancey's face, and she did her best to glance down at the ground. The grip softened, and she could feel her brother's eyes on her as he patted her on the shoulder while he led her up to the entrance to the apartment building. "Oscar, I didn't mean to—" she said, looking at the bruise on his face.

"I know, but you shouldn't have needed to think I was coming after you in the first place." Oscar replied, his voice slightly tense. Once again, Charlotte's stomach tightened, and she looked down at her feet as they found the apartment they shared with their uncle. "Lottie… let's get you both cleaned up first, then we will talk about what just happened." 

Morris, who had been quiet the entire time, entered the small apartment after her, leaving Oscar to close the door. He was worse off than her, his face a mess of bruises from having to jump into the fight without warning. Oscar didn't have to say a word, both of the younger teenagers going to sit on the shabby couch as he pulled out the bandages and antiseptic they kept under the sink. As he came back, Morris finally spoke up, feeling just as nervous as Charlotte looked.

"Oscar—" he began, but was silenced by a hard look from the oldest sibling. 

"Don't try to get out of trouble, Morris, I've told you about jumping into fights with no one there to back you up," Oscar said firmly. 

"Oscar, I was there, and—" 

Oscar didn't even let his little sister finish, instead putting a hand up to silence her as he poured rubbing alcohol onto a rag. "You should not have even been there, period." He said just as sternly. "I know you didn't have an escort to begin with, and I told you that you would be in more trouble than you could get out of if you came to The World without one again, let alone if you tried to fight again. You're a lady, Charlotte, and you need to act like it. I know I'm not Pa, but I'm the only thing close to him unless you want Uncle Wiesel to take over this kind of thing— and he's not gonna be as nice as I am about it."

Charlotte didn't dare talk back or interrupt him, knowing from experience that it would only get her a bar of soap in her mouth. She would get her turn to talk, Oscar always made sure to get the whole story. "It was all me, Oscar, not Morris." she said once he was done, hissing slightly as he dabbed at her black eye with the rag. "I started it all, he just jumped in when he saw I was in trouble. Please don't be mad at him, he was only keeping me safe like you tell him to." 

She knew she was getting her punishment no matter what she said, but the way Morris squeezed her hand in thanks as she told the truth was enough to relieve some of her guilt. He had already cleaned up his bloody knuckles, white bandages almost blending in with his pale skin, and she hated to think of him getting punished as well after all the bruises he had gotten because of her.

"Is she telling the truth, Morris?" Oscar asked, eyeing his brother. "You know that the consequence for lying to me are worse than the consequences for fighting."

"She's telling the truth," Morris said after a moment, hesitating to let his little sister take the punishment alone. He knew that if Oscar found out he'd been lying, he'd not only get a paddling, but he'd also get his mouth washed out with soap as well… however, the instinct to protect the thirteen year old was almost stronger. "Go easy on her, Ozzy, the newsies were running their mouths again, and she wasn't supposed to hear it."

"Okay then… Morris, you're free to either go back to The World if you're feeling up to it, or you can lay down in our room." Oscar said, trying his best to ignore the fact that Charlotte mouthed a quick, 'thank you,' to Morris as he got up— albeit a little bit slower than usual on account of his various injuries. "Make sure to check on your ribs just in case, and don't go if you're feeling dizzy… I don't need you passing out on me."

Charlotte shifted nervously as she glanced down at her bruised knuckles, knowing that nothing good came from her brother wanting privacy. She glanced down at the dirty wooden floor when Oscar met her eyes, barely able to keep from fidgeting as he carefully wrapped the bloodied skin in gauze. "… I'm getting spanked, aren't I?"

Oscar sighed softly and looked up at her, raising his eyebrows. "I think you know the answer to that one," he replied despite how her shoulders sagged, "although I want to know why you got in the fight first."

She deflated even more as he asked her what had started the fight in the first place, tears filling her eyes as she remembered what had bothered her enough to start a fight. "They were talkin' about you and Morris, and they said– they said…" she trailed off, unsure if she should actually repeat it. 

"Lottie, I won't punish you any severer based on what someone else said," Oscar said quietly. He searched her face, the brotherly instincts kicking in as he saw her distress. "I'll wash your mouth out for soap when you say things you ain't supposed to on your own, not when I've asked you what was said."

Charlotte gained some confidence as he called her by the nickname, wiping at her eyes— a bit more gingerly on her bruised one. "They… They called you stupid," she finally said, tears in her eyes, "a-and said that you were good for nothing b-but taking up space and stinkin' up the place. Then they said that you were gonna be drunks just like U-Uncle Wiesel, a-and I just couldn't let them get away with it!"

Oscar shushed her as gently as possible, taking one of her newly bandages hands. "I understand, Lotts, but you know you broke one— no two— rules today. You came to The World without an escort, started a fight, and dragged Morris into it when he had to come help you. If I hadn't shown up, who knows what could have happened to him, let alone what they would have done to you." He said, his voice firm as he stood up from the dining chair he had dragged to its place across from the couch shortly after walking in. "But, you were honest with me over starting the fight, and you explained that Morris wasn't involved until you were well into the fight. I'm proud of you for that, and because you told me the truth, I'm gonna give you a choice: you can either keep your pantalettes on and I'll use the hairbrush, or you can go bare and I'll just use my hand." 

Charlotte swallowed nervously, judging her two choices. For one, the wooden hairbrush was the only surviving trinket of her late aunt, a wedding gift of all things, and it was only a step up from the strap— something that only Morris had gotten so far, and only when he let Charlotte skate too close to the thin ice and she almost drowned when it broke the year before. However, she felt humiliated every time she had to strip from the waist down for a spanking, and Oscar knew it. He was putting her in a hard place, a choice between her pride and her comfort, but she finally croaked out, "hand, please."

Oscar had let her debate for a couple minutes, calloused fingers worriedly tracing her bruised eye and checking her injuries. He would get back at the newsies for that later, he knew that, but right now he wanted to concentrate on the task at hand. He carefully walked around her to sit on the couch, giving her enough room to get ready without giving her the chance to try to run for the door. Charlotte pulled her — thankfully— simple skirt over her hips, undoing the buttons on her pantalettes and letting them slide gracelessly to the floor. As the unbearably cool air hit her now bare skin, she hissed slightly, letting Oscar pull her over his lap. She squirmed as she got ready, relieved that Oscar was keeping one hand on the small of her back to keep her steady. Her ankles crossed and uncrossed nervously, just waiting for the first strike. 

It came as a surprise, like always, a loud crack filling the room before a quick yelp followed. He alternated sides as he began his assault on her rear, her small whimpers turning to crying by the time he got to the six and seventh swat. 

Her legs kicked uselessly as it became more and more painful, Oscar taking the time to stop, fix her legs, and begin again, still keeping the same impossibly slow yet hard pace. Her hands flew back by the tenth swat, tears in her eyes. "No more, Oz, please no more." She gasped through her tears, an uncomfortable burning taking up the seat of her pants. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"I know Lottie," Oscar replied softly, rubbing her back. He moved to carefully massage her neck, fingers tangling lightly into her dark blonde curls. "Listen, you're halfway done, and then I'll take you to your room, and getcha some water, and stay with you until you fall asleep."

As he calmed her down some, he quickly tipped her rear end upwards, knowing just as well as she did that these last ten would be the hardest for both of them, both emotionally and physically. He aimed for the tops of her thighs, knowing full well that it was the hardest spot for her. He carefully pushed her hand away as she tried her best to block the strikes, instantly thrashing. However, the sound of the last ten finally faded away, and she felt Oscar begin rubbing her back once more, moving her skirt into place once she was ready to sit up more. 

"It's okay, Charlotte, you're completely forgiven." He soothed as Lottie wiped at her tear-streaked face, one hand flying back to rub at her reddened bottom. He ran his fingers through her curls, nodding slightly as Morris slipped in and meekly set some tea next to Oscar. "See, Morris got you some tea, and when you're done drinking, I'll carry you to your bed and you don't have to move until morning. You did good kid, and I'm still proud that you were honest with me."

Charlotte whimpered slightly and wiped her face, sniffling as she did. Her brother gently helped her so that she was sitting on his lap, head resting on his chest as the oldest brother comforted her and handed her the glass of chamomile tea. She sipped it quietly, pausing every once in a while to rub at her sore bottom.

After the tea, she settled down into Oscar's arms, her own signal that they could leave her and she'd be asleep for hours. The eldest Delancey brother carried her to her room— actually a large broom closet they shoved a bed into— and Oscar stayed with her until she was fast asleep, resting on her stomach. 

Oscar couldn't help the smile on his face as he watched her sleep once he had put her to bed, the exhausted girl barely able to do more than groan slightly as a thank you. As he smoothed her hair out of her face one more time before heading back to work, he smiled, kissing her on the forehead before leaving. 

He only wish he knew that it was the last time he'd be spanking his siblings, even though he knew for sure it wouldn't be.


	2. Chapter 2

Morris had left for The World a good thirty minutes before his older brother, getting there just in time to get the evening press ready. He slipped in like a cat, winding around workers bustling around with the next round of papers. His uncle was counting money, barely even noticing that his and Oscar's smoke break had turned into a two hour long ordeal, let alone that his brother wasn't with him. 

It was no secret that Lottie and Oscar were practically joined at the hip, the almost fourteen year old girl looking up to her big brother as if he was the greatest person on the planet— and from the way her aquamarine eyes shone at just the sight of him, you'd think the same. Of course, Morris knew she loved him as well, but she completely adored Oscar. In her eyes, he could do no wrong, and it was apparent to anyone who took the time to simply watch the pair interact. Even the tiniest bit of praise from her oldest brother caused her entire face to light up; even more, the smile on his brother's face when she ran up and hugged him after he got home from work was like nothing Morris had ever seen on his face. It was almost magic, one second he was glaring at the ground or the street in front of them, and with one shout of his name, the smile took over and he was pulling their sister close and giving her a kiss on the top of the head. 

What was even more obvious than Charlotte's adoration towards Oscar, though, was that Oscar had a soft spot for the youngest Delancey. It was as if he had a hidden weak link that left him vulnerable to the thirteen year old's every request. Even when she was little, she could convince Oscar to do anything she wanted him to do— even, on at least one occasion, play faeries with her in Central Park when she was nine. It was even harder for him to tell her no now that she was a teenager; even at only five years her senior, Oscar somehow had that paternal instinct that told him time was moving too fast, and that she was growing up. 

The aforementioned Delancey's entrance broke the train of thought Morris was on, his face creased with growing frustration. It didn't take a genius to realize that Oscar was still stewing over the fight that had broken out, his mind on the bruises on his younger siblings had recieved. He understood better than anyone what it was like to get in a fight out of nowhere, and to try to preserve yourself as someone else took a swing at you, but the fact of the matter was that not anyone had given his little sister a black eye and broken his little brother's nose— not that it wouldn't anger him anyways— it was one of the newsies that had done it. His little sister's temper be damned, and what a temper the blonde had, nobody laid a hand on her. 

It was the very thought of his sister that led him to his now foul mood, his mind swirling with his own frustrations at her. He should have nipped the fighting and other unladylike behavior in the bud the moment it appeared, but how could he without seeming like a hypocrite? Hell, he knew that if they still lived on the farm, Charlotte would be the bane of his existence— he could see her, running through the fields when she should be doing the laundry, muddying up her dresses and trying to get away with wearing a pair of his or Morris' work pants without anyone noticing. Of course, he had to remind himself, if they lived on the farm it would be their parent's job to deal with her behavior.

Part of Oscar was glad his father had never had the chance to go after Charlotte the way he had gone after he and Morris a few times. Hell, he was more glad than anything that the day their mother came close to packing up and leaving because of his father's decision to use a bullwhip on him was the day that she was sick in bed with influenza. The bullwhip had made its own painful resurfacing a few times after that before their Ma and Pa left them with their uncle— he bore the scars on his legs and back to prove it— but he'd let himself get whipped with it a hundred times before he let it be used on Charlotte. Perhaps it was a good thing they'd been left with their uncle, but perhaps it wasn't. Their uncle was too much of a drunk to be a coherent father, and the fact that Oscar had taken over the part of disciplining his siblings was the only way he could keep them from getting hurt. 

They stuck together because no one else would, it was how they'd always been forced to live. Blood was thicker than water, as he'd heard before, and he'd rather be guilty of dragging his siblings over his knee than know he stood by and let someone who didn't give a shit about anything but what people might say hurt them out of anger. 

Hearing the newsies come through the open gates, Morris took his place up on the platform, looking down on them like some malevolent God. There wasn't as much elbow room as they'd like behind the counter, and it was easier for Morris to watch out from above than for them to try to work around each other.

Not to mention that Oscar liked Morris to be out of the way in case of trouble. 

The group of newsies were all regulars, their noun-based names escaping him as he looked over the faces. On some of the more boring days, he'd usually make a game out of what they had named themselves after— the one who could never say the letter s named Lisp, the taller one with the cigar named Beanpole— but the first comment out of their mouths made the decision for him that there would be no games this time around. 

"So, Oscar, word on the street is that you got in a fight 'cause of some cat your brother was with." The one with the cigar said, his voice grating on his already thin nerves. "What, you two sharing ladies now, or did ya find some covent garden nun that you could split the cost between you two and not get a complaint?"

Oscar had the other boy's shirt gripped in his hand before anyone had a chance to realize what was happening, a snarl on his face. Morris began to descend from his perch as well, knuckles white and jaw clenched as he climbed down the ladder. The other boy— Race was his name— seemed to be unaffected, laughing and pushing Oscar away with only a small bit of difficulty. 

"What, that your girl or something?" He asked, smirking as the other boys' laughter only egged him on. "I didn't know you were into girls that young, from what I heard she couldn't be a day over twelve."

Oscar growled, leaning as close as he could to the boy with an expression that could almost show how badly he wanted to be able to smite him where he stood. "She's thirteen, turning fourteen this summer," He said through clenched teeth, "and she's my little sister. Now, if you don't want me to row you up salt river, than I guess you might want to end this conversation before you lose your teeth."

The silence that took over the newsies was deafening, the boys glancing from the newsie to Oscar, trying their best to figure out who would be the first to back down. It was one thing to make fun of them, but making fun of a sister they didn't know existed was another. Some of the boys had sisters of their own that lived in Lodging Houses or boarding houses from the textile factories they worked in, the protective instinct not far from their mind. A normally angry Oscar Delancey was bad enough, but both mad as hell and fighting for their little sister's honor was another. 

Race stared Oscar down, deciding the best way to deal with the situation. Finally, an easy smile smoothed out his features, the boy shrugging his shoulders. "Hey, you can't blame me for being surprised that a girl as pretty as she was could be someone as ugly as you'se sister."

The growl that Oscar let loose was something far too close to feral, and only Morris' hand on his shoulder kept him from lunging at the newsie with the intention of breaking his nose. They couldn't start a brawl right by the desk, he knew it as well as Morris did, but the idea of letting the kid walk away didn't sit right with him. Yes, he'd be combing the streets with Morris to make sure they could get their revenge later, but it still didn't feel right. With a grunt, he shrugged Morris' hand off of his shoulder, shooting his brother a look. 

"Here's an idea, kid," He spat angrily. "You get your papers and walk away, and maybe even warn whoever blacked my sister's eye in that fight— even if she was the one that started it— that the moment I find out who they are, I'm coming after them, so they'd better lay low for the next year. Also, if I ever hear of any of your friends even going near my sister again, I'll personally make sure to teach you a lesson. Do you understand that, or do I need to beat that into your head?"

The newsie seemed to finally understand, sarcastically nodding his head, still smirking as he took his papers. "Don't worry Oscar," he said over his shoulder, "I ain't as slow as your brother. I'll get it to 'em."

Oscar glared as the rest sauntered off, glad that most of them had managed to sell their papers already and didn't need to come back. His brow furrowed, he cleaned up behind the counter, not wanting to let his mind wander— or he might just end up heading out to make good on that threat to beat Race senseless. 

"Don't tell me that damn sister of yours got into trouble again." His uncle said gruffly, eyes narrowed as he counted the money. "This is the third time this year that she flew off the handle, and I'm about to teach her a lesson on why she should control herself."

"I already did, Uncle Wiesel." He replied, a tense edge to his voice. "She ain't going to—"

"—Do it again, I know, but that's also what you said last time." He snapped, glaring at Oscar. "You can get as mad as you want, but I will not have her running all over Manhattan and gettin' the name for herself as a girl that has the attitude of an alley cat. If it means wearing her hide out myself, I'll do it."

"I told you, I've got it." Oscar hissed, instantly raising to his full height. He only had an inch of leverage against his uncle height-wise, but he also had the muscles from years of lifting stacks of papers over his shoulder— not to mention the years of working on a farm before that. If need be, he could easily overpower his uncle, and there were times in the past when he had to stop his drunken uncle from getting too out of control, but the last thing he needed was to fight in the already-small space behind the desk. "She listens better to me than to you, and all you'll do is make her worse."

"Than I'll teach her to respect me when I do." His uncle said, and there was a finalized tone to his voice that let Oscar know that the conversation was over. "I don't care if she's the only daughter my sister had, she isn't about to run around Manhattan causing trouble and almost get herself arrested every time someone makes her mad. If you can't control her, then I will."

"I've got control over her, okay?" He said, leaving before his uncle could get another word in. Oscar was fuming, and the look in his eyes was one he only got when he was truly angry. Morris knew as well as anyone that his brother was going after the newsies that started the fight— the closest he could get to beating the shit out of the root of the problem. He wouldn't dream of soaking Charlotte, but he would gladly soak the boys that angered her so much earlier that afternoon."She'll have dinner on the table when we get home, and if I think for a second you even laid a finger on her, so help me god…" 

He never heard his uncle's reply of, "You'll what," or saw how Morris sighed and left as well, the sun beginning its descent as a nearby church bell tolled out seven distinct rings that vibrated the puddles of water on the street from last night's rain. He had a mission that only he could finish, and he'd be sure that it was done by the time he got home and checked up on Charlotte. 

After all, who else was going to make sure no one ever tried to ruin her good name… or, at least, however much good it can be with his connection to her.


	3. Chapter 3

It was about four in the afternoon when Charlotte finally woke up, three hours having passed as she slept soundly in her bed. She shifted in her sleep, laying on her back before her bruised rear caused her to hiss in pain and roll onto her stomach, one hand reaching back to rub the sore skin. She pouted to herself as she laid there, sore yet slightly glad she didn't choose her dignity over her bottom. With her being as sore as she was, there was no doubt that choosing the hairbrush would have done her in. 

The bells from a nearby clock tower that woke her up finally finished chiming, the silence filling the apartment. Her back popped quietly as she took a deep breath, finally sitting up on the bed— although gingerly. Dinner was the first thing on her mind, the ingredients she needed for soup in the kitchen, but leaving the warm bed was going to be a hassle. She knew she needed to be done before her brothers and uncle were done with work, the sore reminder she now had forcing her to get up out of the bed. Oscar was too gentle with her to dare punish her twice in one day, her and Morris both safe from that. Yes, sometimes he would postpone the punishment until the next morning or evening, but he wouldn't ever spank them twice on one day. 

He promised her when she was ten years old that he'd never try to do lasting damage to her— a couple light bruises were one thing, but the scars he wore on his own body from their father were another. She remembered the intense look in his eyes when he— then fifteen— told her that, one of his calloused hands on her cheek as he spoke to her. She'd gotten in trouble again after getting the hairbrush first thing that morning, the panic evident on her face as she confessed to Oscar that she had gotten into a fight at school and a teacher had written home. He'd held her close until she had calmed herself down, his fingers running through her curls. It was one of those moments where he was completely gentle, every movement and word all chosen to help her calm down. He'd explained to her that he cared more than he was angry at her, and that nothing she could do would ever make that change— and that he would never give her a reason to be afraid of being honest. 

"I'll give you a reprieve, Lottie, but it's not just 'cause you were honest. You've been punished already, and I know that if I did it again I could really hurt you. I don't want that, no matter how many rules you break."

She'd spent the rest of the day doing chores as her punishment, ending the day with Oscar helping her wash her hair before bed. The feeling of his hands massaging her scalp was still something she couldn't resist— even three years later— especially right before bed. It usually only happened after she'd had a bad day or they'd finally resolved a fight they'd had. He'd grab an old quilt out and put it on the floor by the washtub for her to lay on, leaning back slightly as she rested her neck on the rim, allowing him to soak her hair with the hot water and wash it with soap. She'd smile tiredly as he lathered it into her hair, his fingers brushing against her scalp, sometimes scrunching her nose as he smeared some of the suds on her nose. However rare it was, she enjoyed every moment until it was done, usually ending with her deciding to crawl into bed shortly after to sleep the night through. 

The sound of a bird on the fire escape broke her from her thoughts, finally forcing her to stand up and plod over to the small kitchenette, the vegetables already set out for her to peel— the meat salted and dried for the soup. She grabbed the knife, absentmindedly peeling carrots and turnips and potatoes as she listened to the noises outside the half-open window. As she set the soup on the stove, she looked out the window, wondering if she should go get some bread to eat with the soup. 

She had enough money, almost a nickel from helping the young woman on the floor beneath them clean her apartment after she gave birth and helped the elderly woman on the third floor get her groceries. It was enough to buy a loaf, and probably have some leftover to send with Morris and Oscar. 

It was about that time that the door swung open, the bell chiming out five o'clock. She jumped slightly, eyes wide as she spun around. 

"Morris— you scared the hell out of me!" She said quickly, catching her breath. 

"Don't let Oscar hear you sayin' that," Morris teased as he ruffled her hair, "speaking of him, has he come home yet? He stalked off durin' work, and I didn't see him after that."

"It's been kinda quiet, Morrie… and don't tell me to watch my mouth when I heard what Oscar said this morning when he cut himself while shaving." Charlotte said, turning around to look at him. "Did he say anything on where he was headed?"

"… I think he was still pissed off at the kids who went after you and me."

There was a moment of silence as Charlotte's eyes dropped to the floor, her eyes filled with guilt. 

"Don't worry, Lots, we both know that Oscar can handle himself against a bunch of kids." 

Charlotte smiled sadly and looked back over at the soup, biting her lip as he absentmindedly stirred the soup she had made. She knew Oscar would be able to take care of himself, but the worry that his own anger would get the better of him scared her. 

"I know, but sometimes I think he needs someone to set him straight for once…" Charlotte replied softly, looking back over at her brother. "I love him, you know that, but…" 

"I know, he's a hardass with an even harder head, but he doesn't mean to be like that." He said, nudging her playfully. 

"I know…" she mumbled. "I wanna get some bread for dinner, Morrie. Do you mind watching the soup while I maybe go and get some from the bakery a couple blocks away?"

Her voice was slightly pleading, smiling nervously. She knew it was against the rules, but she wanted to make sure they had enough to eat. 

"Charlotte—"

"I'll be quick, I promise!" She replied hurriedly. "Oscar won't even know I'm gone, a-and I've got the money to pay for it myself!"

Bending under the weight of her blue eyes, Morris sighed softly, rubbing his face. "Oscar's gonna have my ass if I let you go out on your own…" he finally mumbled, looking over at her. On one hand, he wanted to make sure she wasn't in trouble, but it was also true that the food wouldn't be ready if she had to take it off the stove and put it back on… not to mention he had no idea what to do with choosing bread. "Shit— fine, you can go, but you need to hurry!" 

Charlotte smiled excitedly and hugged Morris, grabbing her small coin purse as she ran out the door. She barely heard Morris yell out for her to be safe, rushing down the stairs as fast as she could. She frankly wanted to hurry before Oscar could get back and find out she was leaving without an escort. 

She was one block away before she heard some voices coming from an alleyway, all of them rough and masculine. She peaked through, confused for a moment as she watched a couple boys gang up on one slumped figure. It wasn't until she noticed the hat laying on the ground, the hat she had given Oscar for Christmas, that she realized who was on the ground. 

"Get offa him, you bastards!" She shrieked, pushing the nearest boy from behind without thinking. It wasn't until she found herself in the middle of the circle with a glaring boy on the ground that she realized her mistake.


End file.
